Tattoo
by Ithinkyoullknxw
Summary: "They knew this wasn't a reunion but they knew it wasn't a goodbye either. It was a see ya later, see you soon, don't forget about me and don't move on, kind of moment. And for now, for the two of them, that was okay." Rewrite of the lack of Carla and Peter reunion.


_This has happened because I was so angry after last nights Corrie, something had to be done! Gutted with the writers and the lack of scenes, I was so hopeful for at least a proper recognition from them. At least we have our imagination, eh! Sorry for the bad language in this. Enjoy!_

 ** _I learned to live half alive and now you want me one more time_**

Carla sank down into the safety of her leather office chair, brushing her hair from her face with an angry sigh. Seeing Peter again had caused so many unwanted memories and emotions to rush to the surface, to the top of her mind where she could acesss them again. She didn't want that, god, she really didn't want that. Se wanted to hide inside the bottom of a bottle. She wanted to hide away and yet scream out in anger all at once. She wanted to get very, incredibly, dangerously drunk.

Her hand expertly twisted the cap off the half empty bottle of whiskey from inside her drawer and the sound of her poison of choice tumbling into the glass almost stopped her feeling quite so on edge. Almost, but not quite.

Fuck, she was angry.

How dare he come back and not approach her? How dare he not come back grovelling and begging for her forgiveness again? Had he really moved on so easily? In the back of mind, when she'd spent hours crying herself to sleep, she'd always been sure he was sorry, always been able to convince herself that he had cared deep down. Until today. Today, that came crumbling down as she doubted whether he'd ever cared at all. Words ring in her ears that she'd thrown at him many memories ago. Maybe it had always been her pipe dream and maybe he really was just stringing her along.

Carla did what she always did, she drank. Eventually pushing the laptop away from herself in anger when she became too intoxicated to confidently bet all her money away. Anger coursed through her shaking body as she threw the almost empty alcohol bottle at the door of the office, not watching as it smashed to the floor.

"I'm gonna assume you weren't aiming that for me.."

Carla's head shot up, her eyes glazed over with a mix of drunken adrenaline, exhaustion and just being plain broken. "What the 'ell are you doing here?" She practically growled as Peter stood in the door way, the smirk on his face as he leant against the wall almost made her want to claw it off. She didn't want him here. Just because she'd been angry he hadn't tried to talk to her it didn't mean she actually wanted him to. She hated him incredibly so, and she hated the stupid look on his stupid face as he stood in front of her looking stupid. She hated him. Didn't she?

She couldn't help, as she swigged the remainder of the whiskey from the glass, but admire his cheek. He had guts, she'd give him that.

"Didn't really think I'd come all this way and not say a quick hello, did ya?"

Carla's eyes rolled so hard, Peter wondered how she managed to keep them in her rather beautiful head. That had always irked him, riled his anger, in the years he had known her, really known her. Her ability to belittle any comment with a mere roll of her eyes, make you feel inferior, underneath her. Though Peter could think of few places he'd rather be than underneath her, in all honesty.

"Well hello Peter. And goodbye. Now get out me office. In fact, get out me factory." Carla's sharp tongue stopped Peter's mind from going into overdrive, stopped him imagining how he'd love to rip her clothes off there and then, remind her what it really felt like to be alive.

"Now now, that's no way to speak to an old friend, is it Carla? Did your mother teach you no manners?" Peter sank into the chair opposite hers and kept up his act. If he had any chance of a proper conversation with his ex wife, he needed to at least seem confident. Maybe she wouldn't notice how his hand shook despite the smirk plastered on his face. Carla's eyebrows arched, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so angry. Well he could, actually. But he preferred not to think of that night. "My mother taught me a lot of things, Peter and none of them remotely involved manners. So I'll give you ten seconds to get your cheating backside off my chair and out of my sight, or I'll show you something my mother did teach me."

Carla swore, as she heard his laugh from across the desk, that if she had been a couple of inches closer, and a couple of drinks more sober, she'd have decked him.

He ignored her. He simply ignored her words as he silently admired the way her new lighter hair fell across her face and highlighted her angered features. Had she ways been so fuckable when she was angry? Peter realised as that thought had crossed his mind, that if Carla Connor had ever been anything, it was always incredibly fuckable.

"A little birdy told me you didn't go to the funeral yesterday. Deirdre would've had a few things to say about that." Carla sat forward now, leaning slightly against the desk, "Oh and I bet you're gonna tell me just what she would've have said about it, aren't ya Peter? Eh?"

Peter sighed inwardly, if anything had changed in the last few months, she was certainly more defensive than ever. "I was just going to say she'd have wanted you there, Carla. That's all. She loved you."

Carla scoffed and shook her head, looking away from him now. He wouldn't be saying that if he knew where she'd been, what she'd been doing instead of paying respects to one of the kindest, genuine women she'd ever known. She also failed to realise, amongst her regret and self pity, that Peter was admitting to also missing the funeral. "Oh please, Peter. No one has a good word to say about me round here, and don't try and kid yourself into thinking you married someone with feelings."

It was Peter's turn to roll his eyes now, "And don't you try and kid yourself into thinking I can't see right through this act."

Carla's hands slamming down against the desk in fury almost startled Peter but he kept his cool, his eyes never leaving hers, "Act?! This in't an act, Peter. This is my life now. Every day, this is my life. Ever since you shagged our babysitter and my loving brother thoughtfully murdered her for me." She jumped up, sending her chair flying as she went in search through the filing cabinets for another drink, another way out. But Peter was quicker and before she could find one he had her pinned against an office wall, one hand on her wrist as he watched how her breathing changed. He hesitated, needing to be certain it was out of lust and not fear, before placing a bruising kiss to her lips.

She almost responded, almost enjoyed it, almost let him in. Almost always was Peter's least favourite word. Almost meant nearly but not quite, almost meant it could have been, should have been, but wasn't.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?!" Carla screeched, pushing him away with a hand on his chest so feebly that Peter was quite sure she didn't want him to move. "I didn't come here to talk, Carla. I don't want to talk about you or me or Deirdre or Simon or fact that you taste like a flaming brewery." For a second, Carla could see how cut up he really was but his eyes soon darkened, lust and a need to release his feelings taking over, "I came here to forget." His voice was low as he pushed against her slightly and even she knew he had heard the small gasp escape her puckered lips, "And I think you want to forget too, don't ya? Don't think I didn't notice the websites open on your laptop." Shit, how had she forgotten to close it, it'd been in front of him all that time. She'd mistakenly let him have the upper hand by knowing her addictions and damn was he using it to his advantage. He knew she was addicted to drink, he knew she was addicted to gambling and he knew she was addicted to him.

He kissed her again and this time, she responded immediately, her hands in his hair and under his shirt and across his bum and wherever she could reach. "Fuck, you kiss better than Nick." She convinced herself she'd said that accidentally but she knew, deep down, that she'd been desperate to see that look of anguish, pain, regret, disgust and pure hatred across Peter's face. She didn't speak as he lifted her up, carrying her to her desk and forcefully throwing everything to the floor with a sweep of his hand before laying her down, his lips all over her skin, "Nick." He groaned, "You've dropped your standards."

At her bitter laugh, Peter sucked on a place on her neck that he knew would withdraw that exact moan, "You don't want him, Carla. You don't want anyone but me." She wanted to stop him, put a halt to his new found cocky, confidence but who was she to deny the truth?

This shouldn't be happening, Carla knew. This situation was bad for everyone involved. Bad for her, bad for him, bad full stop. But jesus, as she placed desperate, forceful, almost painful kisses to his lips, their bodies so tangled as they grabbed at each other that it was almost impossible to see where one lover ended and the other began, she tasted his kisses and his want and his need and she felt like coming home.

* * *

Carla lay naked, draped across Peter's also naked body on the cold, unforgiving factory floor. Her fingers absent-mindedly traced patterns on his chest as she frowned softly, "You've got a new tattoo." Her finger ran over it delicately, such a contrast to the rough, passion fuelled encounter they had just shared. Peter nodded slightly, his hand on her back to keep her against him and Carla was sure he was blushing. "What's it for? I mean I know what it is, but what's it represent?"

The tattoo was a tiny Roman Numeral of the number 5, on the left hand side of his chest, by his heart. Peter just shook his head, brushing it off. He hasn't exactly expecting her to see it all those months ago when he had it done and it had been the last thing on his mind when they'd been furiously undressing in a haze.

"Oh nothing. Just an old friend."

Carla was undeterred, "Who?" She questioned. She knew everything about the man underneath her and even now, the thought of being out in the dark over something frustrated her immensely. "Come on, Peter! Spill. Who affected ya so much in the last few months that you had to get a bloody tattoo?"

"You."

Carla swallowed back and frowned slightly in confusion, "Me?"

Peter didn't look at her but his gentle fingers on her back never stopped stroking as he nodded, "You, Carla. 5, 5 letters in Carla. I didn't want it to be obvious, just something for me."

Carla traced her finger over it, almost memorised by the new forever marking of herself on her ex husbands skin. "When's your train home?" She whispered, her eyes not leaving his chest.

"Two hours ago."

At her tiny triumphant laugh, he rolled her over, and this time, he showed her everything he could without uttering a word. They knew this wasn't a reunion but they knew it wasn't a goodbye either. It was a see ya later, see you soon, don't forget about me and don't move on, kind of moment. And for now, for the two of them, that was okay.


End file.
